Stark International: Under My Skin Part 29

"No," he says firmly, "it's not. Listen, I've been thinking. And the thing is that you love him."

"Ethan, please." My voice is cracking with my words.

"Dammit, Syl, hear me out. You think you can't be a mom. You think you don't have a role model. But you do. Don't you get it? You're your role model."

I run my fingers through my hair, feeling too ripped up inside to try and figure out what he's talking about. "Ethan"

"You are. I mean, if parenting is about taking care of someoneabout being willing to sacrifice for them and make really hard choiceswell, then you already know how to do that. Don't you get it, Syl? You did that for me already."

I suck in a breath, his words surprising me and making tears spring to my eyes.

"You were as much a parent to me growing up as they ever were. Maybe more. I'm sorry if I've made it harder for you. Made you doubt. I shouldn't have. Because you can do it, Syl. I promise youyou already know how."

"I" I can't talk through the tears. I sniff and try to breathe, and then manage to tell him that I have to go. Because I can't handle what he's saying right now. I can't process if it's true or not, because it's just too much. Too big. "I'm sorry," I add. "But I have a scheduled time to meet with him."

I hang up without waiting for him to say goodbye.

Could he be right? I want to believe it, but I'm still scared. And with a little girl's life at the heart of it, I can't run the risk of being wrong.

Two hours later, I'm sitting in the private visitors' room at the county jail where my dad is being held. It's stark and cold and as much as I hate my dad for what he did to me, I can't stand the thought of him living in a room like this for the rest of his life.

The door opens and my father is brought in, his hands in cuffs, his body dressed in an orange jumpsuit.

I rise and start to go to him.

"No touching," the uniformed guard says, and I realize that I'd been about to hug my father, something I haven't done since I was thirteen years old.

"Oh," I say. "Right."

"I'll be outside," he says. "I can't hear you, but if you need anything you signal me."

I nod, and then I take a seat at the table as my father sits opposite. The officer unfastens one handcuff, then refastens it to a bolt on the table. Then he turns, leaves the room, and shuts it with a final-sounding click behind him.

"You killed Reed," I say without preamble, and I realize as I say the words that it is the first time since I was a child that I've felt the protection of this man. "You really did it."

He looks straight at me, and I see genuine warmth. "I should have done it a long time ago."

I look down at the tabletop, not wanting him to see how much I agree. When I've gathered myself, I lift my head, and I know my eyes are accusatory. "You let Jackson just twist in the wind. All that time. He was almost arrested. h.e.l.l, he was almost convicted."

"I know. I'm sorry. I thoughtoh, h.e.l.l. I was scared. I thought it would blow over. I thought they'd quit looking at him because, h.e.l.l, he didn't kill the man. And when it got bad, I was afraid of what would happen to me, and I just kept hoping it would go away."

I cringe a bit. I don't like what he did, but I understand it.

"Did you go there planning to kill him?"

"No. I went there to ask him about those blackmail photos. The ones of you that Jackson told me about. b.a.s.t.a.r.d sneered at me. He even pulled one out to show me." He lifts a shoulder. "That's when I lost it. I picked up that d.a.m.n statue, and I went after him."

"Did you tell your attorney?" I ask. "About seeing the photo? Because what we heard after you confessed was that you were basically killing him to make things easier on Jackson. But if he provoked you, then surely that will come into play when you're negotiating the plea."

"I'm not going to say a word about those photos. You think I want those things out in the world? As it stands, n.o.body else knows, right?"

I nod. Harriet knows about the blackmail, but she'd learned it in the course of representing her client, and wouldn't say a word. Not only that, but as far as she knows, Reed's copies of the photos are still missing.

"I'm staying silent," my dad says again. "I'm not going to make it worse for you than I already have."

"Daddy." I blink, realizing that my eyes have filled with tears.

He starts to reach for me, but has to stop because of the cuffs. "Oh, h.e.l.l, honey. Did I screw up that bad? Did I destroy you?"

"I" I close my mouth because I don't know what to say. Yes? No? Sometimes I feel ripped to pieces? Sometimes I'm okay?

I choose to stay silent, and he just sighs.

"I f.u.c.ked up, Sylvia, I did. And I know I hurt you, but look at you. You're so d.a.m.n strong. Look at everything you've done. At all you've become. You're smart and you're poised and you go after what you want. And I think that's the only reason I can stand my life right now. Because I know that despite what I did to you, that you were strong enough not to let me destroy you."

He draws in a deep breath. "Jackson's a good man. I wanted to hurt the f.u.c.ker for rubbing my nose in the truth. But I'm glad he did it. You deserve a man who'll protect you. G.o.d knows it wasn't your father. Least not until I killed that b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

It's only when a fat tear lands on the metal table that I realize I've been crying. "Daddy," I say, but then I have to stop, because I can't get any more words out. After I calm myself and breathe a little, I try again. "Daddy, you have to tell them about the blackmail. They need to know you acted in a moment of pa.s.sion. That's got to be important."

"h.e.l.l, no."

"Then I'll release the pictures to the press and I'll tell the cops myself." Even as I say the words, I know that I mean them. For years, I've been scared of those d.a.m.n photos. Of the past they represent. Of the shame. But I'm tired of giving them power. h.e.l.l, I'm tired of giving Reed power.

Jackson's rightI know how to fight my nightmares. And the way to do it is by ripping the last bit of control from Reed's hands.

"No, honey, no. I already worked out a nice deal. A good deal. We pleaded down. No premeditation. Three years at most."

He's right, I know. That is a good deal. But it could be better if I turn over the photos.

But when I suggest it, my dad steadfastly shakes his head. "No," he says firmly as he meets my eyes.

"Why not? I can handle it. And if we just turn them over to the prosecutor, they might even seal them."

"Maybe you can, and maybe they would, but I want to do that time."

I blink, confused. "What? Why?"

"I owe you, Elle," he says softly, calling me by the name I stopped using when Reed started touching me.

"Being in a cage doesn't change anything."

His smile is infinitely sad. "Maybe not. But it makes me feel better."

The guard raps on the window, signaling time.

"I don't know if I can truly forgive you, Daddy," I say as the guard opens the door and starts to walk toward my dad. "But I think maybe I want to try."

twenty-nine.

The only reason Jackson got through the rest of Sunday was because he had Ronnie to take care of. And the only reason he survived Monday morning was because Stella took care of Ronnie, and Jackson buried himself in work.

But by mid-afternoon, even the pull of the resort wasn't keeping him on track. He was edgy. Lost. Angry.

He wanted to lash out, and more than once during the morning he'd considered calling Sutter and getting him to open the gym. Maybe even go a few rounds. But the idea of losing himself to the dance and weave, the sweat and pain, the screaming muscles and pumped up adrenaline wasn't doing it for him today.

No, he knew what the G.o.dd.a.m.n antidote for his misery wasand she'd up and left him.

G.o.ddammit.

And for that matter, G.o.dd.a.m.n her. He wanted to be patient. He wanted to help. But at the same time he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. And it frustrated the h.e.l.l out of him that while he could grab control from her in bed, in life, she had to make her own choices, her own decisions.

He only hoped she made the right one. Because he loved her, and he knew that she loved him. He wanted to make a family with her, a life. And he believed with all his heart that she wanted the same thing. But it was fear that had pushed her away. And all he could do was hope that her innate strength would bring her back. She had a lot of strength, after all. She'd pulled him back, hadn't she?

h.e.l.l.

He glanced at the clock, saw that it was Ronnie's snack time, and decided to go see if he could share a PB&J with his daughter and her nanny. He was almost to the elevator bank when his a.s.sistant, Lauren, called out to him. "Mr. Steele? Rachel just called down. She says there's someone to see you on thirty-five."

Sylvia? Surely not, but maybe she was being coy. He allowed himself the pleasure of the fantasy that she was waiting for him at her desk, but when he arrived, he was disappointed to see that it wasn't herand confused that it was Graham Elliott instead.

"Mr. Steele," Graham said, walking to him and holding out his hand. "I'm sorry to bother you at the office. I've met Evelyn Dodge a time or two socially, and when I said I wanted to talk to you, she suggested I come by." He shot a Hollywood smile toward Rachel, who looked like she was going to float out of her chair. "Ms. Peters has been nice enough to entertain me."

"I, um, water? Would you like water? Or coffee? Or"

Graham shook his head. "I'm fine. Thanks."

Jackson slid his hands into his trouser pockets. "What can I do for you?" He tried to say it politely; he wasn't sure he succeeded. This was the man who wanted to play him in a movie about the Fletcher house, after all. This was the man willing to foment the kind of scandal that would throw slime all over Jackson's daughter.

"Two things, actually. I wanted to say congrats on getting your name cleared. And I wanted to tell you that I'm off the movie."

Jackson s.h.i.+fted his weight. Not relaxingnot yetbut interested. And dubious. "Is that so?"

Graham seemed to deflate a bit. "Look, I'm breaking a confidence, but you should know that your dad was in bed with Reed. He was keen on getting the movie made. Figured it would be one h.e.l.l of a payday. Even dropped that bombsh.e.l.l about you and your brother when interest waned. Guess he figured it would pick back up."

Jackson stood perfectly still. "And you? Why were you involved?"

"The material rocks, man. And it's not defamation. All that s.h.i.+t that happened to youto the Fletchersit's a d.a.m.n solid story and it would make one h.e.l.l of a movie."

"And yet you're not going to make it."

Graham met his eyes. "I'm not," he said. "The material's good, but my perspective has changed. My girlfriend's pregnant, and if anyone messed with my kid, I'd f.u.c.k them up one side and down the other. But I guess you'd know all about that, wouldn't you? That's why you were trying to kill the movie."

Jackson nodded. "Yes. It was."

"Was your dad the leak? About your daughter, I mean."

"I don't know, but I don't think so. I think the press just did their job and found the court papers in New Mexico."

Graham nodded. "Listen, I can't promise that no one else will hop on, but I can promise they'll get no support from me. And with you no longer a suspect, the tabloids will back off. I predict they lose interest."

"Thank you," Jackson said, but the simple formality of his words couldn't convey the extent of his relief. "And congratulations."

Graham's face broke into the smile that made him a household name. "Thanks. It's pretty amazing, don't you think?"

"What?"

"Fatherhood. It changes f.u.c.king everything."

"Yeah," Jackson said softly. "It does."

A few minutes later, the elevator doors closed behind Graham, and Rachel let out a long sigh. "Wow."

Jackson smiled indulgently. Considering she'd recently been burned by Trent's deception, it was nice she'd gotten a celebrity treat. "Is Damien in?"

"Sorry, no. Do you want me to leave a message?"

Jackson shook his head. "No. I'll tell him later." He headed back to the elevator bank, fully intending to take the express to the apartment. Instead, he got into the regular car and descended to the parking garage. His mind was whirring as he strode to his Porsche. They were cut from the same cloth, Sylvia's father and Jeremiah Stark. But at least Sylvia's dad was trying to mend what he destroyed, even if murder was a rather dramatic way to apologize.

But not Jeremiah. He just kept hacking away at Jackson's and Damien's lives, as if they were gemstones and he was trying to mine a sliver, not caring that he was damaging the whole.

That was something Jackson was d.a.m.n sure he wouldn't do as a father. He'd make mistakes as a parent, sure. But he wouldn't repeat his father's. Sylvia knew thathe was one hundred percent certain that she believed in his ability to raise his child.

So why the h.e.l.l couldn't she see that in herself?

He was already out of the parking garage before he realized that his destination was Santa Monica. He'd been trying to give her s.p.a.ce, but he was done. He wanted her. He needed her.

And he was d.a.m.n sure she needed him.

Time to go bring back the woman he was going to marry. Time to convince her that she should stay. That this would work.

Because, dammit, he wasn't going to lose her again.

thirty.